


Surrender

by RubyRollup



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7438241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyRollup/pseuds/RubyRollup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don’t want to resist any more.<br/>I can’t. All the reasons that convinced me that I was right in keeping a distance didn’t exist anymore. Shifting forward a little, my eyes drop to his mouth and my hand follows suit, resting on his jaw with my thumb tracing the contours of his lips. That was all the answer he needed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here we are

**Author's Note:**

> I had this nagging on me for about a month. If I'm honest, when I wrote this, I did not have a specific fandom in mind, however, I've been reading lots of Sebastian Stan fiction, and he seems to fit this male character best.  
> It is far from complete, but, as a friend said to me recently, inspiration comes like hiccups...  
> Until my next bout...

The past nine months have been a torturous, slow burn to this point; him chipping away at my resistance with his words and unspoken but undisguised admiration; and me fighting tooth and nail to deny the obvious.

Although his attraction and feelings towards me made no sense, it accessed a part of me I thought no one would be able to, and awakened a longing I had never felt before.

It scared me. It scared me to the point where I took pains to ensure that we were never alone, and held on for dear life to all the reasons we couldn’t succumb.

But here we are. _Alone_. With him crouched in front of me, his hands braced on the sofa on either side of me, both of us staring at each other, enveloped in an atmosphere of sexual tension that is threatening to choke the life out of me. It’s been but a few minutes but it feels like we’ve been sitting like this for hours. Even though we are close enough, we’re only touching the sofa, and in this moment I realise two things.

Firstly, his resistance is far greater than mine. I can see the effort it’s taking for him to keep still, but still he is, waiting for me to grant the thing I’d been denying him. His lips are closed but his eyes are saying it loud and clear. _Only if you want me to._

Secondly, I don’t want to resist any more.

I can’t. All the reasons that convinced me that I was right in keeping a distance didn’t exist anymore. Shifting forward a little, my eyes drop to his mouth and my hand follows suit, resting on his jaw with my thumb tracing the contours of his lips. That was all the answer he needed.

In one fluid movement he closes the gap between us and I find myself perched on the edge of the sofa looking into desire-darkened eyes, his hands pressed against the outside of my thighs, mine curved around his shoulders. But he doesn’t kiss me just yet – he rests his forehead against mine and lets out a breath that seems to say, “ _Finally_ ”. I feel his hands skim over the fabric of my dress, and pause at my knees to pull down the zippers of my boots. Sitting back, he pulls them off one by one, chuckling at the sight of my Spiderman ankle socks. The laughter dies in his throat as his eyes travel up my bare legs.

It is the first time he has ever seen them uncovered, and I am sure the sight confirms what I’ve told him so many times before. _They’re not as nice as they look in tights._ (I am sufficiently mortified, but for some reason I’m unable to get up and move away from him). For the most part, I am happy with my imperfections, happy in my skin. My scars are part of my story, part of me. But his silent scrutiny is awakening old insecurities. He tells me often enough that he finds me beautiful. I usually blush and say ‘thank you’ (as I’ve been instructed to do) even though a part of me cannot believe it to be true. And it frightens me, how much I want to hear him say it now.

The words don’t come. He moves, and I brace myself for his rejection and the heartache that will inevitably follow.

The rejection doesn’t come either. Instead, I feel warm fingers, starting at my ankles and slowly travelling up, and then warm lips following the random path of his hands. Only the path is not so random – it takes a few moments for me to realise that he is kissing each of my scars.

The words still don’t come but as his lashes lift, I see why.

They’re sitting in his eyes. The way he’s looking at me makes me _feel_ beautiful.

For as long as we’ve known each other, Sebastian’s been more than candid about his attraction to me and about what he would do should we ever find ourselves in this very situation (some of which I wish he’d kept to himself), so I am a little more than surprised to find myself still upright, and not pinned beneath him on this sofa.

The look he’s just given me lit a fire within my core, the heat spreading like wildfire to the end of every extremity, his lips over my scarred skin like gasoline on that open fire. I’m pretty sure that I am every shade of red from head to toe (something he enjoys a little too much), and not just from embarrassment – should someone hold a mirror to my face, I’d see no trace of brown in my eyes.

As sure as I am that my body is betraying me, he moves no faster. The whole evening, his every touch has been…an almost reverent caress. His lips linger on the scar that circles my left knee, applying only the slightest of pressure, almost as if anymore would cause me pain.

This tenderness and restraint is my undoing.

I will my brain to silence. Emotion and instinct are all that guide my hands to lock at the base of his neck.


	2. No more running

_(Sebastian’s POV)_

I don’t know whether I’m awake or dreaming – I’m sure that at any moment Margarita will shake or kiss me from my sleep. Then I remember that in the most clichéd turn of events, she left me for her one of her latest co-stars (the thing to do in Hollywood, it seems). And I remember clearly the peculiar sense of relief and freedom I felt at seeing her walk out of our apartment door. The final (and biggest) obstacle to my happiness removed herself.

Now I’m here (on my knees) with the woman I am convinced was designed specifically for me. Honestly, I’m expecting her to run at any moment, as she’s done every time even a ghost of an opportunity like this presented itself. I expected her to run (or kick me out of her apartment) the second she realized we were completely alone. She didn’t.

I can feel her tension under my fingertips and through the fabric of her clothes, but she doesn’t run.

I can feel it in her muscles as I unzip her boots and run my fingers and lips over her legs _(I have to admit, they're not what I expected. Neither is my reaction. Somehow though, her scars suit her, even the faded, almost tattoo-like stretch marks that run from her thighs to her hips; they match her personality, represent her strength and growth, and the sight of them pull at both my heart and core - scars and all, she takes my breath away)._

But _she doesn’t run_.

And although I can see and feel her resolve crumble, I move as slowly as my body will allow. I would rather die from an overdose of unresolved sexual tension than rush her into a panic. Just as I am about to congratulate myself on my unusual measure of self-control, she shatters it by pulling me up and pressing her lips to mine. I pull her down onto my lap, keeping her flush against me with one hand and tilting her head with the other. Her movements are slightly hesitant at first, like she’s testing to see what feels good, what she likes. The more we kiss the more her hold on me tightens, her grip in my hair just short of painful, her knees digging into my hips, until I can feel the rapid beat of her heart and the heat from her core. 

Commands from my brain are non-existent at this point. I'm trying to slow down but my body is having none of it, and my reaction between her thighs makes her moan into my mouth. At this rate, she'll unman me. Reluctantly I break away from her, willing myself to relax my grip on her wrists.

"I'm sorry," she breathes against my lips, her fingers still in my hair. So like her, thinking that _she's_ done something wrong. After a beat, she lifts her eyelids and looks at me.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. I've wanted this since we first met. But..."

"But?"

"Are you sure _you_ want this?"

Her eyes close and she lets out a little laugh. She lifts herself off my lap, but takes both of my hands in hers. I am so distracted by the secretive smile playing at her lips that I don't immediately realise where we're headed...

Until my eye falls on the bed she's pulled me towards. At the foot of it, she turns to face me, pulling me closer. 

"I'm sure. No more running."


	3. A moment of panic

Sometimes I wish I had a mute button for my thoughts.

I’m not a seductress. I’ve never been the kind of girl who could proposition a guy with words or even just looks, much less take him by the hand and lead him to the foot of my bed. I’m shocked as hell that I managed to get him this far, and now that we’re here… I want to do this, but I don’t know how. But I don’t really want to turn back.

“Shhhh…” he whispers, gently rubbing the skin between my brows.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Not to me, no,” he chuckles. “But I can hear them.”

We are completely in each other’s personal space, and I’m swimming in different sensations – his cologne in my nostrils, his breath warming my chin and neck, his hair between my fingers, his fingers brushing over my spine as he pulls the zipper of my dress down.

Sebastian peels my dress down my arms and kisses a moist trail from the exposed skin of my shoulder, up the side of my neck. I bite down so hard on my lip, but not hard enough to silence the moan/whimper that escapes. It sounds like a sob, and I start to shudder uncontrollably.

“We can stop,” he says. I can hear the disappointment in his voice, but he backs up a little bit, still loosely holding my arms.

“I don’t want to stop, Sebastian. It’s just—“

He’s looking down but the expression on his face stops me mid-sentence. Because it matches what I feel exactly, and I realise that however difficult it is going to be, I have to be honest with him. I take a deep breath, and for the first time, the complete truth spills forth.

“ _Never_ before in my life have I ever experienced a man react to me the way you do. Not even the ones who were interested. Most men find me off-putting. I'm too independent, too opiniated, too blunt. No one has ever thought or called me beautiful. Very few people can handle my personality and most are scared of me. It’s made me tougher than I think a woman should be. And here you come, and completely obliterate my defenses by openly appreciating the things that are unique to me. You’re the first man who is not afraid of me. With one look, you make me feel beautiful, and accomplished, and desired. Things I have never felt before. All of which makes me feel things for you.”

That makes him look up, but I don’t wait for him to say anything.

“I’m scared,” I say, taking his hands in mine. “Scared of the intensity of those feelings. Scared that the reality of me will very likely pale in comparison to the ideal you’ve built up in your mind. Scared of the pain I know I will feel if (or when) your feelings for me fade.  
But I don’t want to stop. I just…” _Needed a minute_ , I finish in my head.

Sebastian still says nothing. He looks down again, at my hands. After a few agonising moments of silence, he takes my right hand and presses it over the left side of his chest.


	4. Reassuring confessions

(Sebastian’s POV)

Before this night is over, someone may just have to carry me to my grave. I think I may just be the first man to die from aggravated UST. However, right now she is sitting in my lap, with kiss-swollen lips and her dress pooled around her waist, and if we progress no further than this point, the fact that we got here is progress already.

I needed her to acknowledge that there is something much more than friendship between us, and that she wants me as much as I want her. For now, that’s enough.

“Can you feel that? I ask, pressing her fingers to the frantic thrum beneath my left ribs.

“That happened the first time I ever saw you. It is a miracle that I haven’t had a heart attack, because the only time it slows down is when I don’t see, speak to or think of you…which only happens when I sleep, and not always because I’ve dreamt of you more often than is normal. The longer we’ve known each other, the worse it’s become.”

She’s looking at our hands on my chest and I nudge her chin so that I can see her eyes.

“I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you. Your inexperience hasn’t put me off. Neither has your attempts at keeping your distance from me - if anything, it’s made me want you even more. I _never_ chase a girl when I don’t know for certain that she’s interested. I _never_ chase a girl for as long as I’ve chased you. But with you…I feel like I’d chase you even if I had you for certain.”

She says nothing, but she also doesn’t move away, which gives me confidence to continue.

“Now I know that you _do_ want me to catch you. And make no mistake, I want _all_ of you. I can wait for this,” I say, looking at the space between us. “I don’t want to scare you, or make you feel uncomfortable or rush you into something that you’re not ready for.” _Even though it may just kill me to step back from you right now_. “I just wanted to know for certain that you want to be mine in every way, because I want to be yours in every way. And when you’re ready for _this_ …I’ll take care of you.”

I start pulling her dress back up, but she stops me as I’m about to pull her hand through the sleeve. Her gaze drops to the top button of my shirt and travel down, her hands following as she undoes each one, only stopping where it disappears into my pants. Flattening her palms against the skin above the waistband of my pants, she runs them back up, opening my shirt more, to lock her hands at the base of my neck and shift closer. I can feel the warmth of her breath, the satin of her bra and the skin of her belly pressing against mine…and I can feel the nervous tension leave her body as she looks up at me and exhales.

“Okay.”


	5. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there....

This morning my bed feels warmer than usual, the press at my lower back is heavier than that of a sheet, and I’m smelling more than just my own shampoo (reminds me of cologne and something else).

My eyes fall on Sebastian lying next to me as they open. There’s a space between us but he’s close enough for me to feel his body heat, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, details of the previous night come flooding back. His hair is falling over his eyes – they tickled like feathers in my neck every time he bent down to kiss me. I can still feel the scrape of his beard on the inside of my thighs, feel the softness of the lips nestled in the scruff on my wrists, on my shoulders, behind my ear.

He looks unbelievably peaceful, one arm under his pillow beneath his head, his shoulders gently rising and falling with every deep, slow breath, his free hand resting protectively on me.

_I’ll take care of you._

His words resound in my head, but he was so off the mark with that understatement. If last night proved anything, it proved that he pays attention, and has been listening to everything I’ve said (and haven’t said out loud) since we met. He helped me rediscover my own body, explored what I liked, slowed down when my discomfort was too much (he basically mapped my pleasure zones). Even in his sleep, he knows that I’m not a cuddler, but that a small amount of touch is comforting.

He didn’t just take care of me. In one night he broke through the walls I’d put up to keep him out.

I give in to the urge to run my fingers through his hair (a lot more gently than I did last night) and lightly scrape my nails against his scalp. His eyes are still closed but lets out the most contented purr at my ministrations. I could lie like this forever but my bladder is protesting against that idea.

The cold wraps around _a very nude_ me like a wet blanket as I leave the bed but doesn’t  stop the blush that spreads over my entire body, the burn in my muscles in no way diminishing my post-coital bliss.

Reality though, has a habit of overshadowing romance when sun comes up. I’ve never woken up with a man in my bed before, so I’m not a hundred per cent sure how I’m supposed to act this morning. We’ve been hovering on the edge of friendship for a long time and while we’ve definitely crossed that threshold, I don’t really know what we are now. Although Sebastian’s given me no reason to doubt him, a very small, annoyingly insecure part of me is scared that he will wake up, realise he’s made the biggest mistake of his life and walk out, and all I would have left are the memories of our friendship and memories of last night. I wouldn’t be able to go back to just being his friend.

I know what I want us to be. And even though he has said that he wants the same, declarations are so much easier to say in the heat of the moment. I need to hear them again, when we’re both lucid and rational, and not drunk with lust. I’m grateful that he’s still asleep so that I can have my mini freak out in the privacy of my bathroom. I take a few moments, to brush my teeth, slip into my robe and compose myself before exiting.

~~~

He’s still asleep. Coffee is always a good idea, and my brain only stills when my hands are busy, so I pad my way to the kitchen.

I spoon in enough coffee for two, switch on the machine and set two mugs in front of it, but sadly this is not enough to keep the freak out from continuing between my ears.

I hate not knowing what to do. I hate being unprepared. If I’d woken up to him gone, I would have lost my shit for a few seconds, cried for a few seconds more, spent the rest of the morning berating my stupidity for giving in to him over a large, indulgent breakfast, and then proceed to ignore him for the rest of eternity. That would have been simpler. Now…ugh. People should write a manual for this. _Post-Sex Conversation Starters: How to avoid Awkwardness and Discomfort_. And follow it up with one on how to prevent yourself from falling apart or embarrassing yourself if everything goes pear-shaped - _Keeping Your Composure: If He Wants to Walk Out, Let Him. Fall Apart When He’s Gone._

The low rasp and warm breath at my ear shocks me out of my foolish philosophies.

“One of those for me?” _Why does he have to sound like sex???_

“Mm-hmm,” I nod, keeping my eyes on the dripping liquid. Sebastian comes to stand beside me, leaning against the counter. I can feel his eyes on me. The stupid machine chooses this morning, of all mornings, to take its own time…but I focus on it (and not his bare torso, or bed hair). At last, the machine gives its last stutter, and I busy myself with our coffee. I can’t look at him…and I can feel the air thicken with unsaid words and tension. I hand him his mug, and proceed to stare into my own as I take my first sip.

I hear him set his cup down, and a second later he takes mine too.

“Wha—“ Before I can finish my thought, he’s pulled me between his legs and silenced me with his lips. His kiss is slow and deep, and I realise, everything I need to hear he’s saying – just not with words. I feel them in the heat from his mouth, in the strength of his hands - one is squeezing the side of my waist (something he does when he hugs me); the other is under my hair, cradling my head. The tension breaks, the longer we stand there, holding each other.

We break apart, many moments later, and he’s still holding me. Holding my body…and holding my soul too. And for the first time, a resolute voice whispers in my heart,  
“ _He’ll hold you for good…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight update to this chapter to bring this story to a conclusion.  
> The end was hard...because it was hard to let go of these two. I had about twenty different ways this could have ended...and this is not necessarily the best way.  
> But I needed for my heroine to find emotional safety and security in Sebastian.
> 
> Thank you, from the bottom of my heart and soul, for sticking with them,


End file.
